ower moving-van that had been down the coast
with a load of furniture for a city family who were moving into their
summer home. The driver was willing to give Mr. McCarthy a lift, and a
few moments later the contractor was bowling along the highway on his
way to Portsmouth, thence on to his home at Meadow-Brook. The girls
stood waving to him as long as the big car was in sight, he
occasionally leaning out to wave back at them. They then retraced
their steps to the camp, talking animatedly about the great treat in
store for them--the sailboat with the homely name. They could scarcely
contain themselves until the morrow, when the boat was to arrive. In
the meantime everybody went over to examine the trail that Tommy
Thompson had found. As she had said, it led into the woods and was
there lost. Harriet showed them as nearly as possible where she had
lain when the man stumbled over her, but search as they might they
were unable to find a single trace of the box that had so mysteriously
disappeared.

At supper that evening Mrs. Livingston advised the girls to say
nothing to any one outside of their own companions regarding the
strange proceeding. She explained that, by remaining silent on the
subject, they might be able to learn more about it, and that perhaps
some violation of the law might be at the bottom of it.

Early on the following morning all the girls were up scanning the sea
for a sail. A coasting schooner in the far distance, making up the
coast, was the only boat in sight. The day was brilliant with
sunshine, the sea blue and sparkling. The lookouts could see a long
distance. The day passed and the night passed, but still no trace of
their boat. Nor had the other mysterious craft paid another visit to
the bay. At least, if it had, none of the campers had been awake at
the time.

It was late that afternoon when some one raised a shout and pointed up
the coast. There, about five miles away, was a tiny speck of white
that they knew to be a sail. There seemed to be but a single sail,
which told them that a small boat was carrying it. Then, again, the
sail looked so white that they decided it must either be their boat or
a private yacht cruising down the coast.

"It does look more like a yacht than the 'tub' that Mr. McCarthy
described," said the Chief Guardian. "If this is the 'Sister Sue' she
is a very trim little craft."

The beach was lined with Camp Girls eagerly watching the approaching
sailboat, which wa